


Betrayed by Body Language

by HeadcaseCraziness



Series: Languages [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dark, Gen, Hubert von Vestra Being Hubert von Vestra, M/M, POV Linhardt von Hevring, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Sleep Deprivation, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29911476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadcaseCraziness/pseuds/HeadcaseCraziness
Summary: Or when your mind refuses to speak, your body speaks volumes...Linhardt struggles with the aftermath of a battle while Hubert is unhelpful yet helpful. Pre-relationship.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring & Hubert von Vestra
Series: Languages [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110848
Kudos: 3





	Betrayed by Body Language

Linhardt couldn’t sleep.

While it was an incredibly rare occurance, akin to seeing a Shooting Star, it did still happen...

When his body pleaded for rest but his mind was alert and constantly thinking. In the past, it has been his many research projects, his Father’s many political and nobility lectures or even school studies that had occupied his brain, but tonight it was different.

He had felt this way before... He felt it _every time._

They had won a battle all but two days ago and still his mind would not allow him to sleep. 

When he closed his eyes, he saw blood... Bloodied bodies, friend or foe. The very ground wet with it, blood-logged and sodden. He heard the final screams of enemy soldiers, the last whispers of dying men as he got to them too late, the panicked shouts of his battalion Mages when they couldn’t save someone. _The smell_... It made him sick at just the thought, he didn’t want to remember. 

When he closed his eyes, he saw the aftermath as someone, maybe Ashe, pulled him away from the chaotic battlefield; he relived the celebrations of when they returned victorious; he felt the many hands that pet his skin as soldiers or friends commended _his efforts._

When he closed his eyes, _it was all too much_!

He had tried everything to drown it out, to drift away, and not see or feel it all over again. He had spent an evening with a lengthy book in his favourite reading nook; had left the Monastery one calm afternoon to try and find a worthy tree to doze under. He had taken the offer to sleep in Caspar’s room just to have someone he cared about nearby and safe. He had thrown himself into his Crest research...   
And Goddess forbid, he even went to the training grounds early one morning to practice his offensive spells with Lysithea.

None of it had worked.

His thoughts refused to quieten and now his body was beyond exhausted so that he could hardly concentrate. Reading or walking, such simple tasks, took all his mental capacity and if it strayed for even a moment he would either find himself staring into nothingness or that he had fallen to the floor not really knowing how he had gotten there.

He wanted, _needed_ , to sleep. 

But he _couldn’t_.

... ... ...

Linhardt’s boots hit stone and a brisk breeze washed over him, the Autumnal air chilling him to the bone. It was cold and it was dark, he had forgotten his cloak. Then again, he had forgotten even walking here. Had he warped and not realised or had the short journey simply slipped his mind entirely?

He wasn’t even sure where here was. A slow glance revealed he was still in the Monastery grounds. That was good at least.

He shrugged, he was here now and so he stayed.

The night drifted by in a haze.

He stared out at the vast darkness below, where even the Moonlight refused to touch, the chasm that lay beneath the bridge leading to the crumbling and broken Cathedral. 

He became faintly aware that he felt watched. Eyes burned holes into his skin and they seemed to be the only things staving off the deadly chill. He had not registered any footsteps, but then again when it was silent he only heard screams. 

He slumped against the icy stone, it sapped the warmth from his skin even through his layers of clothing. The nothingness he gazed into evolved: so many bloodied faces appeared in the dark, with broken lips choking on their last words and he could only watch... Unable to help.

A disembodied voice spoke from behind, an impassive drowl tone as cool as the very midnight air.

“Now, this is a surprise... This is the last place I thought I would find you, von Hevring.”

Hubert von Vestra. He was the last person in all of Fodlàn that Linhardt wanted to speak with, especially in his current state of mind.

“What is it, Vestra?” He muttered towards the canyon filled with pale, red-tainted corpses that all stared up at him with unseeing eyes, mouths open in neverending screams...

He scrunched his eyes shut but he still saw it. 

This time it was... Hubert,

He’d seen the Dark Minister on the battlefield...

How he weaved death and destruction so easily.

He didn’t want to think about the charred remains of the victims they’d left behind nor the injuries sustained by men in the crossfire.

Linhardt reviled Dark magic, the things it could do were beyond anything he could stomach. Elemental magic was one thing, Black magic was more severe but understandable... _But Dark magic._.. 

He felt sick again.

“I hear you have been rather busy as of late. I must give credit where credit is due... _I commend y_ -“

“ _Don’t_!” Linhardt growled, cutting them off, if he heard that stupid line one more time he was going to throw hinself into the endless chasm of bodies and drown in the blood below. They shouldn’t congratulate him, people were dead... 

_He’d killed people_... 

He’d been unable to save _many more_.

“Oh?” The Minister settled into the periphery of his vision, close but with a cautious edge. “Are you quite well, Hevring?”

The question was enough that Linhardt looked his way and simply shrugged. He couldn’t explain his racing heartbeat, his darkened thoughts or his sleep-deprived delusions to this man, he would simply not understand. 

He would _never_ understand.

“I see. You are not sleeping then.” There was an odd tone to his voice, less dead than usual, an unknown emotion brushing the edges of his words. “If it helps, I will let you in on a small _secret_ :   
I have not either.”

Linhardt scoffed, turning to glare anywhere but in their direction. “Sure, Hubert. You’re _haunted_ the same way as me...

“Perhaps not the same way, no, but I have witnessed things that I will take to my grave.” Was that sincerity in his voice, or was it a smokescreen like everything else he did? He was the Spymaster afterall. He was meant to trick people.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He hissed, but the other was unphased by his reluctance.

“Then explain it to me, Hevring.” 

“No.” He snapped back, an ebbing anger swelling in his chest. “I told you, you _wouldn’t_ understand. Not when you take life so willingly. _Easily even_! You’re almost as bad as th-that _Monster_ Jeritza can barely control!”  
Hubert’s demeanour shift in an instant. 

“I am nothing like that shell of a man... I kill as I need to. We are at war after all. He kills as he enjoys it, as if the very act arouses something salacious within him.” He stepped closer and learnt against the wall, his gaze fully on Linhardt. 

His tone darkening, he growled: “ _Do not compare us again._ ”

Linhardt had had enough of the other man’s posturing and threats even before the conversation had started.  
“Leave, Hubert. I don’t want to talk to you.” 

There was a moment of silence before Hubert spoke again.

“While I would usually acquiesce such a request, I cannot. You are not well, Linhardt. I know if I leave you now you will either faint or become ill from the cold.” 

As if to react to their very words a vicious shiver racked over Linhardt’s body and he rubbed his arms to try and generate some heat.

“Just leave me be! Are you even capable of staying out of someone else’s business?” He doesn’t really recognise the voice that spits those words, so strained and defeated... And that anger, he rarely found himself this emotional.

There was a grumble and some shuffling to his side. A moment later something warm was draped across his shoulders, the wind rebounded off the tall collar that shields his neck and he automatically clutched at the fabric, drawing it around his arms and chest. It is not overly warm nor is it thick, but it helped to chase the midnight chill away a little.

He glanced down at the material clasped in his hand, black and gold with a somewhat etheral sheen to it. It thrumed under his fingertips, it was magically enchanted. 

He blinked slowly as it registered, this was Hubert’s rather ridiculous cape. It usually aided the other in blending into the shadows, or swayed obnoxiously when they deigned to be seen in the light. It was an important part of von Vestra’s carefully crafted image.

“Oh.” It was all he could come up with. Was this a significant gesture? 

He did not know.

Hubert scoffed beside him. “If you find my company that abhorrent, I will take my leave. Although, not until you come out of the cold... Lady Edelgard would never forgive me if I left you here.” 

He offered a gloved hand. “Come, I can take you back to your room. You seem incapable of doing so yourself.”

The other glanced at the long fingers clad in pristine white cotton. Gloves that hid hands that did unspeakable things, killed so readily, produced magic so foul it was known to corrupt the very being that cast it. Not a speck of blood or dirt were seen on those gloves...

But underneath, Linhardt wondered how sullied those hands really were. 

For all the healing he had done, the times Hubert had graced his presence in the Infirmary for an injury too serious to ignore or as he staggered towards him on the battlefield, he was never seen without his hands covered.

“No. I’ll walk.” He shook his head and refused them.

“I doubt you will make it off this bridge. A warp spell will be much more efficient.”

“I’d rather walk than allow you to cast a single spell on me.” He pushed off the wall, only to stumble right back into it as he body protested the sudden movement.

“Really now? Even if I could make you sleep?” Linhardt could feel that crooked smirk without looking their way. “That is what you want, is it not? For the sounds to quieten so your mind can shut off. I have seen you like this a few times before, back at the Academy. Although, it was accompanied by a more physical illness back then.”

“Don’t persume to know my mind.” He ground out, his body felt ready to collapse but he would not accept the offered spell. “I can walk!”

“Fine. I am in no mood to argue further. We will walk, although you are unlikely able to move unaided and I would rather not carry you.” This time he offered his arm, and Linhardt found his fingers clutching at it before he remembered he wanted to be angry at the other man. He didn’t want to accept help from them, nor touch them unless they needed healing but here he was...

Hubert said nothing at the vice-like grip on his forearm, Linhardt holding him as if they were his only lifeline, or the wavering footsteps Linhardt could only muster as all his effort focussed on the simple act of walking. He was grateful for his silence. 

Vestra’s cloak still hugged his shoulders as they slowly vacated the bridge area, leaving the chasm filled with dead behind them. As the icy wind ruffled the dark material Linhardt dared a glance upwards at the man he clung to: they were quite pale, moreso than normal, which contrasted with the dark purple bags under his eyes and while his eyes were as impassive as always they lacked their usual golden luster. Hubert’s gaze always seemed dangerous or even mischevious at times but now it looked dead. Maybe they had truthful in that regard, they were clearly tired as well. 

The Minister noticed his rather obvious staring, turning to gaze down with a fine brow raised.

“Yes, Hevring?” 

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” He had suspected that nothing could keep a Vestra up at night. 

A completive look clung to Hubert’s features, their tone seemed somewhat sincere. “I have a great many things on my mind... I have not slept for more than four hours a night for years.”

Linhardt didn’t stop the sterness slipping into his voice, the begrudging tone he would use for an unruly patient. “That is beyond unhealthy, Hubert! I shouldn’t need to lecture you on why a good nights rest is vital...”

Hubert chuckled above him; an odd, quiet hiccuping sound. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard them chuckle before. Laugh, _yes_ , the laugh he used was clearly crafted with so much of his image, but not an honest little chuckle.

“Oh, I know the consequences one can have when they forgo sleep. You are a prime example right now.”

“Don’t remind me...” He grumbled, his gaze shifting to the floor so he could concentrate on walking again.

The rest of the stroll to Linhardt’s room was in silence, his grip did not loosen as they approached and at some point he started to lean his head on the other’s upper-arm. 

His eyes fought to stay open, although he still saw scarlet when they closed. 

Yet, the choked screams were distance now.

Maybe, j _ust maybe_ , he would sleep. 

He wasn’t sure when they had stopped moving. He became aware of the fact slowly.

His mind was too pre-occupied anyway... His gaze was a haze of midnight colours, his limbs were heavier than lead, the only sounds he could hear were the rustle of clothing in that icy breeze and a faint heartbeat within the foreign appendage he still clung to. The idea that they were no longer walking didn’t quite occur to him.

“Hevring?” The other’s voice called through the fog in his mind.

“Hmm...?” Linhardt was barely awake now, his eyes were basically closed at this point.

“We are here. You need to unlock your door, it is enchanted.” 

“Oh...? You just need to tell it... To open?”

“Your security is asking a door to open? That is as pointless as an unlocked door.” 

“Yeah... Caspar couldn’t do a more complex spell... So...” He yawned, unconsiously snuggling closer into Vestra’s bulk. “But it’s not... Pointless. You’ll see.”

“Fine. Shall I ask?” They paused above him, clearing their throat. “Door. Open.” Another pause and a rattle of a old door-handle. “It’s still locked.”

He grinned to himself as he blindly grasped for the door, once his hand touched the cold wood he muttered a phrase to shock the other man.

The door clicked open as if it hadn’t been locked at all.  
Hubert instantly bristled against him. “That was _Almyran_? I was unaware you could speak it...”

“Good ear. It’s easier than you think, picked up a lot from Claude during the Academy. Almyran magic it’s... Is more crude but not many in Fodlàn actually under-understand it.” He mumbled and made a blind gesture towards the open doorway. He was far too tired for a lengthy explanation of the differences in magical abilities and uses across Nations.

“I did not expect Claude and yourself to be the _most obvious friends_?” There was an edge to his voice, probing and close to interrogative.

“Yeah. Well, you were busy planning a war and wasn’t as aware of everything as you like to think.” He said, yawning again.

“ _Evidently_... I would assume I have much improved in that respect now.” He muttered through gritted teeth. “I shall leave you here, I long outstayed my welcome.”

Linhardt slowly lets go, taking a wobbly step forward, only to slump to the floor in the middle of the doorway.

“One step... _Really_ , Linhardt?” 

“It’s okay... I can sleep here, ju-just shut door.” He could sleep just about anywhere at this point, his sleeplessness had finally released it’s cruel grip upon him.

A sigh sounded behind him. “Unacceptable, I refuse to leave you on the floor after I walked you all this way.” Surprisingly strong arms encircled his chest and pulled him back to his feet. 

“Floor’s fine... Really.” Linhardt protested, wiggling out of the hold. He wanted to be left alone... Everything in his head was quiet for the first time in days, he couldn’t let the moment waste. 

The screams, the scarlet, the faces... They were gone. The darkness behind his eyes was devoid of anything.

“For your own standards maybe, but not mine.” When Linhardt refused to stand on his own, Hubert heaved him over his shoulder and carried him over to the bed.

“Huh... Goodnight, Hubert.” He murmured against them, closing his eyes once more, regardless that he was still being carried across the room. 

He received a quiet scoff in return.

By the time Linhardt hit the covers he was already asleep.


End file.
